


All the Stars are Abloom with Flowers

by orphan_account



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Kinda ish, Songfic, doctor who - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 09:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2768369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I need a life.</p>
    </blockquote>





	All the Stars are Abloom with Flowers

**Author's Note:**

> I need a life.

He never sees her, not once, not twice. He quite literally does not acknowledge her existence. 

Oh, of course he knows she is alive, but she lives in his peripheral vision, in that little void in his brain. 

_You have tamed me... Now you must take me…_  
She saves them all from those horrific creatures, saves them from the woman with a straw but he barely notices. She shows him and he takes her, obediently, but like a small child, reluctantly and she can't help feeling guilty every time he sighs after she says something. She speaks and he shakes his head and has a faraway look in his eyes and she knows he thinks of his Rose. Sometimes, when he thinks he is alone in the console room he will talk to his TARDIS, reliving days with his Rose and speaking softly to her, as if his precious Rose were next to him, not in another universe. One time she sees tears streak down his hardened features. She watches him from the hall, where he does not see her. Every so often he will speak of Rose or insult his current companion but he was never intuitive, and she ignores it. She loves the stars and She talks to them, she pours her heart out to the twinkling lights. He knows what he is doing but he cannot care. She came as a sharp woman, fiesty, with a spirit, but her aching soul has shadowed her shining smile and his insensitive words have snapped her thorns. _“You - you alone will have the stars as no one else has them...In one of the stars I shall be living. In one of them I shall be laughing. And so it will be as if all the stars were laughing, when you look at the sky at night...You -only you - will have stars that can laugh.”_

_They'll grow right though if I don't watch it…_

He takes her to London way back when, and she meets Shakespeare. She sees the Globe, she touches the woven straws and marvels at how she forgot it existed. The little hotel is full and she shares a bed with him.  
"Rose would know what to do," he murmurs, glassy eyes staring into space, like the wooden bedframes could bring his Rose back; like they held the answers to life; like there was a very small galaxy in them that he was seeing that she couldn't. She turns away from him, keeping herself the epitome of grace and composure, letting his words seep through her and puddle, his words will echo when she tries to sleep. He does not notice it, he sees only his Rose in her little glass case. She does not understand. _“It is the time you have wasted for your rose that makes your rose so important.”_

_And I wouldn't raise my child inside this city anyway…_ As a child she was the sensitive one, the smart one, the sweet one. She didn't like to watch sad movies and she didn't like green. Green was a sad color. Her friends, (she had two) would call her Mae. She liked to help hurt animals but the old scared her. She lives the stars and sunsets. She was always smiling and had a comeback for everything. She was very individual. She loved, once, over the tall wheat fields. He was young, she was younger, he could not love her, he ran from her, from the woods and golden fields, from that flock of birds that lay next to the woods, away from it all, and they never found him. She was blamed but simply read in the fields, the stalks waving around her like swaying gold dancers, the bright sun sweeping the fields and darkening her already dark skin, kissing her cheeks and her long, gamgly limbs, the heat making her scrawny legs sweat and her pigtailed braids frizzled. She read, she loved the Little Prince. She imagined that the one who had ran from her imagined about her, thought about her; she was the Rose and he was the Prince. She was a dreamer, that Martha, they said. She ignored them, reading her aged, stained books in the drowsy heat with her eyes half closed under the thick sky and the sunkissed skin. _He still loves me,_ she would imagine. _He just forgot._ _She cast her fragrance and her radiance over me. I ought never to have run away from her... I ought to have guessed all the affection that lay behind her poor little stratagems. Flowers are so inconsistent! But I was too young to know how to love her..._

_And a sunset couldn't save me now..._ She trusted him _she trusted him,_ , and he betrayed that. The Master, (As if, she had scoffed. He is not my Master.) had insulted her, saying she was not Rose, she was not clever, and she was sick. She was sick of being tossed, she was sick of being his chewtoy. She yelled and yelled, a regular volcano. At least, she thought she did. In reality, she merely blinked back the tears. She told him, in a quiet wavering voice, what she thought, and Jack, oh Jack, he looks bewildered and the Doctor says what and looks confused and she misses him and the the tall fields and being someone else's Rose and she leaves, slowly, she says goodbye. She cries afterwards, sitting at her home at watching the sunset, she met her Little Prince, she had the oppurtunity to live her childhood's fairy tale but he was not ready, he was too little, he couldn't get over his Rose. _“You're beautiful, but you're empty...One couldn't die for you. Of course, an ordinary passerby would think my rose looked just like you. But my rose, all on her own, is more important than all of you together, since she's the one I've watered. Since she's the one I put under glass, since she's the one I sheltered behind the screen. Since she's the one for whom I killed the caterpillars (except the two or three butterflies). Since she's the one I listened to when she complained, or when she boasted, or even sometimes when she said nothing at all. Since she's my rose.”_


End file.
